<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Somebody Catch My Breath by MaurianasRavenholdt</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634768">Somebody Catch My Breath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaurianasRavenholdt/pseuds/MaurianasRavenholdt'>MaurianasRavenholdt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Apprentice Arc, BAMF!Nightwing, Creepy Slade Wilson, Evil Slade Wilson, Flashbacks, Graphic Depictions of Torture, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Beta since 1986, PTSD, Panic Attack, Rape Aftermath, Shamelessly Cherry-picking Canon, Torture, fic request, torture aftermath</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:15:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaurianasRavenholdt/pseuds/MaurianasRavenholdt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick tried to forget. He didn’t want to confront the nightmare that was his time as Slade’s “apprentice”. Life, and a case in Gotham, had different plans.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>571</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Ghost of You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJMatriX13/gifts">DJMatriX13</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/18316685">A Loaded God Complex</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking">withthekeyisking</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was written for an awesome fan (DJMatriX13) and the first draft was loosely inspired by “A Loaded God Complex” by WithTheKeyIsKing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nobody was <i>ever</i> supposed to know. This was <i>supposed</i> to go to his grave. Or Slade’s, whichever came last. </p>
<p>Of course, the fact that he had once been Slade’s unwilling ‘Apprentice’ was largely known. That wasn’t the secret he had buried. No, it was <i>how</i> Slade occupied their time ‘together’. How Slade doled out punishment and reward. The answer to the question he was asked too often: </p>
<p>“Why is that psycho so obsessed with you?” </p>
<p>Dick would just shrug, or smirk and say, “who knows with people like him?” </p>
<p>Dick knew. Knew because the dreams never stopped (<i>’hush, little bird’</i>). The hands never <i>really</i> left (<i>’you belong to me, and I’ll use my property how I see fit’</i>). The pain of it all still lingered (<i>’you’ll call me ‘Master’ or I won’t be as gentle, next time’</i>)</p>
<p>No one was ever, <i>ever</i> supposed to find out. But secrets like that don’t hide themselves well. In hindsight, it was only a matter of time. </p>
<p>In hindsight, he should have <i>never</i> answered Bruce’s call back to Gotham in the first place.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>“You needed me?”<p>Dick sauntered into the Batcave, very aware of his posture and affect. He always felt transparent under Bruce’s scrutiny, so he slipped into a carefully crafted personality: a little swagger, but not to the point of arrogance. A little cheer, but not to the point of exuberance. A little seriousness, but just this side of truly stoic. After years of practice, this version of himself felt like a well-worn sweater. Easy to put on and comfortable at first. Scratchy and sweltering if left on too long. </p>
<p>It was quite an intricate performance tailor-made for the man at the computer who didn’t even look up when he said, “assassination attempt” without elaboration. </p>
<p>Dick craned his neck up to take in all of the data displayed on the large monitor. Bruce (no, Batman) started the briefing. </p>
<p>“LexCorp’s lead bio enhancement engineer, Dr. Ji-hun Park was part of a negotiating team sent to secure lab space with Gotham Memorial’s prosthetics research division. After leaving the facilities tour, he and his driver approached a rented town car. When the door was opened, the car exploded. Park sustained 1st and 2nd degree burns. The driver was killed.”</p>
<p>“LexCorp plus bioenhancement makes me think Intergang,” Dick remarked as he examined photographs of the destroyed sedan. </p>
<p>“That was our first assessment as well,” Batman confirmed, “and intel gathered by Oracle confirms that Intergang contracted a hit on Park after he declined to assist them with the evaluation of newly acquired alien technology.” </p>
<p>“Not like Intergang to hire outside of ranks for something like this,” Dick mused. </p>
<p>“We are working under the assumption that they wanted to maintain plausible deniability.”</p>
<p>Dick huffed, then raked his hand through his hair, thinking. “Maybe. Whatever the angle, it sounds like you, O, and the others have this under control. So, as much as I love family get-togethers, I really do have a full plate...”</p>
<p>“Intergang hired Slade Wilson,” Batman interrupted in a detached, informative way, “your insights are essential.” </p>
<p>“No,” Dick breathed. He hadn’t <i> completely</i> avoided encounters with Slade Wilson over the years, (the mercenary had turned antagonizing him into something of a hobby, after all) but he kept as far away from the man as the job allowed. He didn’t want to even <i>think</i> about him, much less be drawn in on a case for his ‘experience’ with him. When Bruce raised a critical eye, Dick retooled his response. </p>
<p>“I only mean that this is too sloppy for Slade's work.” The recovery landed, Batman grunted, and Dick continued, “if he was hired to kill Park, Park would be dead. Not bandaged up and placing a help wanted ad for a new driver.”</p>
<p>“Hn.” Batman continued to scroll through data, occasionally stopping to review CCTV footage from the area around the blast. </p>
<p>Dick groaned as things finally clicked for him. “The contract wasn’t to <i>kill</i> Park. Intergang can’t use a dead bioenhancement expert. But a <i>terrified</i> one might be a bit more willing to deal. This wasn’t an assassination attempt. It was a threat.” </p>
<p>“The timing of the blast and the payload  would have needed to be absolutely precise to make sure Park wasn’t killed in the explosion,” Batman said skeptically. </p>
<p>“Now <i>that</i> sounds like Deathstroke’s work. ‘Precise’ might as well be his middle name.” </p>
<p>Dick tried to force nonchalance. Maybe even a hint of amusement. But his chest felt like it was filled with ice water and his heart clawed a path towards his suddenly dry mouth. Just <i>talking</i> about Slade forced memories to the surface. Memories that Dick had worked diligently to keep buried since the day he made it out of captivity and back into freedom.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>...His room in Slade’s bunker was small. Pitch black. Ice cold. Dick spent his first few days huddled in the corner, staring at the door. He tried not to think about the Titans. Tried not to think about the way Slade had hijacked their bodies without them knowing.<p>He didn’t want to even consider what Slade would do to them if he didn’t figure out a way to stop him. So he kept watch. Waiting. Calculating. </p>
<p>If he was fast, and the timing was perfect, he was sure he could escape. Catch Slade off guard and make it out of this cell. Disable the device threatening his friends. Make it to safety. When he heard heavy boots outside the bolted door, he shifted into a crouch, keeping the tension in his muscles coiled and ready. </p>
<p>Light spilled into the room, and Dick lunged, ready for the impact of his foot on Slade’s body armor. </p>
<p>With a mildly amused laugh, Slade stepped to the side and watched impassively as Dick’s attack threw him off balance. Deftly, the man grabbed him by the collar of his suit and dragged him to the far wall where iron manacles hung on a long chain. Slade slammed Dick against the concrete. Even with the wind knocked out of him, he fought, leaning into his training to try and get space <i>away</i> from Slade. But on the best of days, Slade was a force to be reckoned with. </p>
<p>And this was not the best of days. </p>
<p>When he felt the cold metal against his gloveless wrists, Dick abandoned his carefully crafted tactical plan and gave in to the sickening panic that he’d kept at bay since his capture. He gnashed and snarled, tugging hard against his restraints. </p>
<p>Slade stepped back and tilted his head, considering, before he pulled a knife out of its sheath. </p>
<p>“You look like a pitiful, wild animal in a trap. I expected better,” he remarked smoothly as he moved closer again.</p>
<p>Dick felt it before he saw it - a vice-like hand around his throat, pushing him securely against the wall. His vision blurred and his lungs burned, screaming at him to exhale. Slade raised the blade in his other hand and dug it into the material of Dick’s suit, deftly slicing it away, smiling viciously when the knife cut in too deep, and small rivulets of blood coursed down the boy's side. </p>
<p>Finally, Slade stepped away, releasing his grip and re-sheathing the blade. Dick gasped and retched, pulling frigid air through his bruised throat and into his lungs. His suit lay in tatters at his feet. He looked up at Slade and saw a dark, vicious expression. Not anger, or satisfaction. <i>Lust</i>. </p>
<p>It was brief, but unmistakable. The implications only added to the terror Dick fought hard to deny. </p>
<p>When Slade spoke again, however, he sounded <i>bored</i>. </p>
<p>“If you’re going to act like a wild animal, I’ll treat you like one. Feral creatures don’t deserve clothes.” Slade walked back to the door, and Dick clamped down on his urge to beg for his release.</p>
<p>“I’ll check back later,” Slade said from the hallway, “if you seem more <i>domesticated</i>, maybe I can reinstate some of your privileges.” </p>
<p>The door slammed shut, and Dick sagged back against the wall, shivering in the dark...</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>“...your assessment, Dick?”<p>Dick raised his eyebrows at the missed question, loathing himself for his lack of discipline. He’d beaten down his flashbacks with force of will. For them to resurface <i>now</i>, while Bruce was watching - it felt like a conspicuous failure. </p>
<p>“I got caught up in the math behind exactly <i>how</i> precise that detonation needed to be, sorry.” He hoped the lie would suffice, and he avoided holding his breath. “What did you say?” </p>
<p>“I was discussing Deathstroke’s probable next moves with Oracle, and asked for your assessment of the situation.” Bruce leaned back in his chair and appraised Dick with suspicion. </p>
<p>“It all depends on the contract. When it comes down to <i>business</i>, Slade is a consummate professional.” This, at least, was a question he could answer without dredging up too many memories or emotions. “There isn’t anything ‘off-limits’ for a client that can pay as well as Intergang can, though. If Park still won’t get with the program, they may use Slade to confine or torture him. We’ll only have a short window to get the good doctor - before Intergang comes to ‘ask’ for his help again. After, he’ll either be with <i>them</i>, and have all the protection that entails. Or, he’ll refuse, and the situation will be placed in Deathstroke’s hands.” </p>
<p>“Hm.” Bruce folded his hands in front of his chin. “Coercion seems most likely. Intergang has laid out considerable expense to get this close to Dr. Park. And if they have technology that requires his expertise, they likely won’t be very willing to terminate those efforts.” </p>
<p>Dick nodded in agreement. “They’ll try to bring Park to heel, but if he <i>won’t</i>, Slade is more than capable of executing him.”</p>
<p>“Then we should get moving,” a voice echoed from the shadows of the cave. Tim, outfitted in his Red Robin gear. He stepped close to Dick and matched his brother’s posture; arms folded over his chest, head tilted back to take in the information on the display. </p>
<p>Nodding, Dick closed his eyes as a photo of Slade swept up onto the monitor. But he wasn’t able to blot out the horrors that always seemed to lurk behind his eyelids.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>...There was no way to know how long Dick spent naked and chained to the wall in that dark, freezing cell. Long enough, however, that the light from the hallway was blinding when Slade opened the door again. Dick winced and pulled to the side, shielding his eyes the best he could. He felt a gloved hand on his chin, tilting his head back, and the rim of a plastic bottle pressed to his lips.<p><i>Drugs</i>, the paranoid part of his mind screamed. He jerked away, and felt cool water splash down onto his bare chest. </p>
<p>“You’ll be of no use to me if you die from dehydration. So you are going to drink, or I’ll have to pursue other methods of getting you the fluids you need. Understood?” The deep voice felt excruciatingly loud after so long in silence. </p>
<p>Tentatively, Dick opened his eyes, and looked up to see Slade Wilson’s face filling his vision. </p>
<p>With an amused smile, the mercenary tightened his grip and pushed his thumb into Dick’s mouth to keep his lips parted. Then he tilted the bottle again, carefully pouring the water over Dick’s tongue, going slowly enough to give him time to awkwardly swallow. </p>
<p>“Very good,” Slade cooed darkly. Suddenly, the water was gone, and Dick felt Slade’s thumb probing further into his mouth. The other fingers pushed his jaw closed. The man groped deeper, pressing against his teeth, the inside of his cheeks, the back of his throat…</p>
<p>Dick gagged and tried to pull back, but Slade held fast and crouched down to whisper, “hush, little bird,” into the boy’s ear. </p>
<p>Drool and tears dripped down Dick’s chin, and he felt a gloved hand wrap around his flaccid cock. </p>
<p>No. This couldn’t be happening. This was <i>not</i> happening. He bit down hard on Slade’s thumb and felt his teeth cut into the leather around it. </p>
<p>Growling, the man pulled away, then landed a vicious backhand across Dick’s cheekbone. Dazed, he sagged to the side, blinking away the darkness that ebbed in at the edges of his vision. </p>
<p>“Have I not made your situation clear?” Slade gripped Dick’s jaw again. Hard. Digging his fingertips into the skin. “The ‘family’ you’ve cobbled together has been infiltrated. <i>Infected</i> with technology that can kill them in a matter of minutes. The only things keeping them alive are your compliance and my <i>generosity</i>. You <i>belong</i> to me, and I’ll use my property how I see fit. Fail to understand that, and your little friends will die in agony. Because of you.” </p>
<p>Dick felt Slade’s hand slide down his abdomen to grab him again. This time, he didn’t pull away…</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin stood clustered on the rooftop across the alley from Dr. Park’s hotel room. Through raised binoculars, Dick watched the shadow of the man pace back and forth behind the drawn curtains.<p>“He’s nervous,” he remarked, “if it’s happening tonight, it’ll happen soon.” </p>
<p>As if on cue, the window of the hotel room exploded inward, and they could see Park clearly now - dazed and laying on the floor, but alive. </p>
<p>Batman shot out a grappling cable. “Nightwing, get Park. Red Robin and I will locate the sniper. Once the doctor is secure, we’ll rendezvous.”</p>
<p>Dick nodded, then deployed his own line and swung through the destroyed window. Park was conscious, but barely. While he tended to the doctor's wounds, he radioed back to Batman, “You’re not looking for a sniper. Damage in the room is consistent with a targeted detonation.”</p>
<p>With the update received, Dick turned his attention to first aid. Dr. Park was bleeding slowly from a laceration to his arm and was clearly concussed. Dick was attempting to determine the best way to extract him when he heard a sickeningly familiar voice from the shadows. </p>
<p>“I’m unimpressed, Little Bird.”</p>
<p>In the space of a breath, Dick was on his feet with his escrimas at the ready, facing the form in the darkness. </p>
<p>“It’s a good thing I don’t care what you think, Slade,” he shot back. </p>
<p>He took a stance between the mercenary and Dr. Park. Waiting. Deathstroke’s enhancements meant he could easily predict his opponents' moves in combat. The only way to work around this, Dick had learned, was to start on the defensive, then wait for the opportunity to take the upper hand. </p>
<p>So he stood, still but ready, as Slade casually walked up to him and gave him an appraising look. “As much as I have missed your <i>company</i>, I need to make sure Dr. Park gets to his appointment on time.”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid he has to cancel,” Dick snarked, “because he isn’t going <i>anywhere</i> with you.”</p>
<p>Slade shrugged, then lunged, sword slicing the air in a vicious opening stroke. Dick parried with his escrimas and pushed forward, giving Park distance. The small space of the hotel room didn’t favor his more open style, so he pulled in tight, keeping blows fast, not relenting an inch. But a miscalculation gave Slade an opening. He grabbed Dick by the throat then slammed his chest against the far wall. Dazed and gasping against what was at <i>least</i> a separated rib, he didn’t have time to move before Slade was behind him, effectively pinning him.</p>
<p>“Maybe I <i>am</i> impressed after all,” Slade whispered into his ear, then rolled his hips against Dick’s ass. “If I wasn’t on a job, we could get <i>reacquainted</i>.” Slade had started rhythmically thrusting against him. Dick felt like he couldn’t breathe. He put his arms under him and pushed back. Hard. Slade didn’t budge, and Dick fought with diminishing strength as the air was being pressed out of his lungs. </p>
<p>Slade kept rutting against him. </p>
<p>When the mercenary abruptly stepped back, Dicks legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He couldn’t keep himself grounded, could barely hear Slade’s final remark, “it’s been fun kid. Can’t wait till next time,” before he slung Park over his shoulder and dove through the window. He tried to focus on the pain of breathing, on the roughness of the stucco wall behind him. But he couldn’t</p>
<p>He knew he should follow Slade. But he <i>couldn’t</i>.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>...slowly, Dick had earned more ‘privileges’, as Slade called them. Like clothes, and food, and freedom from his cell every day. Granted, it was only for the purposes of Slade’s ‘training’, but it was <i>out</i>, and away from the cold and darkness.<p>But ‘training’ was a horror all it’s own. Not the physicality of it. <i>That</i> was, frankly, not as hard as Bruce’s regimen. Dick was very used to being put through his paces. Combat and exercise were familiar. </p>
<p>Slade’s punishments for missteps, however, were not. </p>
<p>The ramifications of perceived failures became excruciatingly clear the very first day Slade had released him and pulled him into the open area where ‘training’ would begin. Dick was disoriented from the prolonged sensory deprivation. His muscles ached with the beginnings of deconditioning. He was so very hungry. </p>
<p>None of that mattered. And when Dick lost his footing and fell to the concrete beneath him, Slade narrowed his eyes and sneered. </p>
<p>“Come here, <i>Apprentice</i>.”</p>
<p>Dick bristled. He would <i>never</i> accept Slade’s insistence at calling him that. Regardless, he stepped forward, careful to keep a comfortable distance. </p>
<p>“Kneel,” Slade ordered. </p>
<p>For a moment, Dick hesitated. The idea of submitting, even symbolically, to the man was revolting. But his friends, his <i>family</i>... they were in danger. They were <i>counting</i> on him to comply, even if they didn’t know it. So slowly, carefully, Dick lowered himself to his knees. </p>
<p>Slade circled him wordlessly. At last, the man stopped behind him. Out of sight. </p>
<p>“All fours.” </p>
<p>The whispered command barely registered. Slade wouldn’t make him grovel, would he? It didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping the Titans alive.  Humiliated, Dick lowered himself further, placing his palms on the cold floor below him. He almost wasn’t surprised to feel the boot between his shoulder blades, pressing his arms and face flat against the floor. </p>
<p>“Stay,” Slade commanded. </p>
<p>Minutes passed. Slade maintained his position behind him, out of sight, not moving. Dick’s shoulders ached, and he could feel his knees bruising. He tried to breathe through it. Whatever point Slade was attempting to make, he would make it eventually. Fighting might mean he’d end up back in his cell, chained to a wall. So he waited, closed his eyes, and drifted, finding the closest thing to sleep that he’d had in days. </p>
<p>Without warning, Slade stepped forward and tugged down the waistband of Dick’s pants, baring his ass. Dick tried to push up, tried to <i>fight</i>, but Slade clamped a hand down on the back of his neck and held him firmly in place. </p>
<p>“I told you to <i>stay</i>,” the man growled. </p>
<p>Over the sound of his own panicked scrabbling against the floor, Dick heard the hiss of a zipper being opened. Felt Slade kneel behind him. He wanted to kick out hard, but the mercenary kept his legs pinned. Dick wasn’t naive. He knew what was coming next. </p>
<p>Still, he couldn’t prepare for it. The slow, inexorable, searing drag of Slade’s cock pushing into him. The burning stretch as his rim was tugged open to accommodate the assault. </p>
<p>Dick dug his teeth into his knuckles, stifling a scream as Slade started fucking him - setting a brutal pace. But he couldn’t steel against the sob that escaped when he felt something inside <i>tear</i>, slicking Slade’s cock with what he could only assume was blood. </p>
<p>It went on so long. </p>
<p>Finally, Slade’s thrusts slowed, then stopped. The man groaned and stiffened before he moved away and stood. Dick felt hot, thick fluid slide out of him in a gush. </p>
<p>“Get up, Apprentice,” Slade commanded. </p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Dick spat as he slowly, carefully, rolled to the side and began working his pants back up to his hips. </p>
<p>The blow of a heavy boot against his leg stopped him. “I think you <i>meant</i> to say, ‘Thank you, Master.’”</p>
<p>Dick knew it was a terrible idea to ignore the man. Knew that, at best, he was risking another ‘punishment’ and at worst, risking the Titans’ <i>lives</i>. But he couldn’t find his voice - couldn’t form the words. Instead, he said nothing, and pulled himself up to his knees, preparing to stand. </p>
<p>Slade grabbed a handful of Dick’s hair and growled into his ear, “you’ll call me ‘Master’ or I won’t be as <i>gentle</i>, next time.”</p>
<p>If that was <i>gentle</i>... the thought of something even more brutal terrified Dick. So he closed his eyes, swallowed a mouthful of bile and whispered, “Thank you… Master.”</p>
<p>“Better.” Slade released his grip. “On your feet, Apprentice. You aren’t finished with your training, today.”...</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>“Nightwing? Nightwing! I think he has a concussion, Batman.” Tim’s voice faded in, like he was above the surface of water, and Dick was swimming slowly towards him.<p>Dick shook his head, trying to clear away the disorientation. “Park’s gone. Deathstroke has him. And I <i>don’t</i> have a head injury. I’m fine,” he reported flatly, forcing a smile. </p>
<p>Carefully, doing his best to hide the fact that he was very much <i>not</i> fine, Dick pulled himself to his feet, and did what he could to focus on the concerned faces of Batman and Red Robin in front of him. “Slade was already in the room when I came in to assess Park and attempt to extract him. We fought. He got the upper hand.”</p>
<p>The explanation was meant to smooth over any lingering doubts about how ‘fine’ he was, but apparently it fell flat. Batman narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Tim cocked his head to the side, evaluating. </p>
<p>“We should head back, regroup. Maybe call in backup.” Dick hoped that taking <i>control</i> of the situation might deflect <i>and</i> help him feel more clear-headed. “We should be able to determine the secondary location and extract Park from there.”</p>
<p>“Hn,” Batman replied with a nod. </p>
<p>With a final glance around the room, Batman leapt out of the window. Red Robin followed suit. Dick turned around and stared at the wall where Slade had pinned him. Where Slade had…</p>
<p>No. No, he wasn't going to think about it. He pulled in tight, excruciating breaths, hoping the pain in his chest might keep the panic he felt at the edges of his consciousness at bay. Over the comm he heard Tim’s voice, “Hey ‘Wing. Are you coming?”</p>
<p>He didn’t respond. He <i>couldn’t</i> respond. Instead he placed his forehead firmly against the wall by the open window and clenched his eyes shut. </p>
<p>
  <i>Not here. Not now.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Not here. Not now.</i>
</p>
<p>He mouthed the words silently like a mantra. He had to get it together. They would be concerned, soon. They would suspect. And if Bruce <i>suspected</i>, it wouldn't be long before he <i>knew</i>. And that…</p>
<p>Well, the thought did nothing to help stop the panic attack that was barreling down on him. But he had to get this under control, and quickly. He kept his thoughts simple. Grounding.</p>
<p>
  <i>Breathe. Breathe. You’re in a hotel room. You’re not with Slade. Your friends are not in danger. No one is going to…</i>
</p>
<p>“Nightwing.” </p>
<p>Startled, Dick whipped his head around. Batman stood behind him, impassive as always, but there was a hint of concern in his voice when he said, “Penny One will be examining you when we return, and we’ll arrange to have your bike taken to the cave. Whatever injuries you’ve sustained, it's clear they've impared short term cognition.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine, B,” he lied with a smile. “Honestly.”</p>
<p>“This is not up for discussion. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>The ride back to the cave was quiet. Tim elected to bring Dick’s bike home, so it was just Bruce and him. Alone in an uncomfortable silence. They were nearly back before Bruce spoke.</p>
<p>“Your breathing is unsteady. You’re leaning slightly to the left. Ribs?”</p>
<p>“Pretty sure I just separated a few. Nothing earth shattering,” Dick replied. </p>
<p>“Hn.” </p>
<p>For a moment, Dick thought there would be no further speculation. A few more minutes passed without comment. Then…</p>
<p>“Separated ribs wouldn’t account for disorientation or unresponsiveness. When we found you, it took Tim several attempts to get you to acknowledge him. And if I assume you are not reckless enough to conceal a head injury, then I have to conclude that you’re hiding something else.”</p>
<p>“I’m not, B. I’m fine,” he replied. Maybe if he said it with enough conviction, he’d believe it. Then again, maybe he should have just lied and feigned a concussion. Too late, now. Because Bruce had clearly latched onto this as a ‘mystery’ for him to solve. It was really only a matter of time…</p>
<p>No. Dick could handle this. He could keep it concealed. Whatever it took. Bruce could <i>never</i> know.</p>
<p>They made it back to the cave without any further discussion on the matter. Dick knew better than to think it had been dropped. But with the rest of the ‘family’ in the cave - Damian, Cass, and Steph had apparently been called in - it was easier to pretend the contrary. Dick trailed behind Bruce as they headed to join the others. </p>
<p>“Nightwing. Medbay. As discussed,” Bruce admonished without breaking stride or looking back. </p>
<p>Not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than he already had, Dick turned around and headed to the brightly lit room where Alfred stood by a gurney, already waiting. </p>
<p>“This really isn't necessary, Al,” Dick complained as Alfred swung a penlight in front of his eyes, carefully observing each pupil's reaction. “I don't have a concussion because I wasn’t hit in the head. I just need to have some ribs wrapped and then I’ll be good to go.”</p>
<p>“And yet,” Alfred began dryly, “Master Bruce tells me you were visibly disoriented after an encounter with an enhanced, combat trained mercenary. You’ll forgive me if I choose to conduct my own investigation into the matter, sir.”</p>
<p>Resigned, Dick waited patiently for Alfred to give him the all-clear. Then he hopped off the gurney and jogged over to the computer bank, hopeful that he hadn’t missed too much of the briefing. On the monitors were the blueprints of four different warehouses. Oracle had apparently narrowed down potential locations where Slade had taken Park. He observed each one in turn, filtering in pertinent information from the conversations around him. </p>
<p>“It’s the Eastside warehouse,” Dick said conclusively. </p>
<p>“Because…?” Steph prompted with skepticism. </p>
<p>“Because it's the only one with small, interior rooms just off of the main warehouse floor,” Dick replied without elaboration.</p>
<p>“I don’t follow,” Tim admitted. </p>
<p>Dick sighed heavily. He’d only been brought in on this for his ‘expertise’ with Slade and his methods, after all. Revealing <i>some</i> of what he’d gone through might kill two birds with one stone - they could find Park quickly, and Bruce may be satisfied enough to not look too deep into why Dick was struggling at the hotel. </p>
<p>“We’re operating under the assumption that Deathstroke is going to ‘coerce’ Park into cooperating with Intergang. Slade Wilson’s favorite tactic is sensory deprivation. The easiest way to achieve that is by using a small, quiet, interior room. The other warehouses <i>do</i> have closets, but those are generally for maintenance, and would have sinks or textured floors that could provide some relief. Eastside has empty storage rooms, three by three, that would be ideal for the purpose without needing to make too many conspicuous changes.” </p>
<p>The answer seemed to reverberate in the silence that followed and the heavy implication that Dick had direct experience with the matter settled over the group. Steph looked up, sympathetic. Damian angrily shook his head. Cass silently put a hand on Dick’s arm. Bruce remained stoically impassive.</p>
<p>With a deep breath, Tim nodded, “that... makes sense. Eastside it is.”</p>
<p>Decisively, Batman stood. “We’ll start with surveillance. After we’ve determined this is the correct locale, we’ll regroup at dock 34 to discuss engagement. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Dick nodded, and began to walk to his bike. </p>
<p>“Nightwing, you’ll remain here on comms,” Batman added with finality.</p>
<p>“What?!” He turned, outraged. “No. No you <i>need</i> me on this.”</p>
<p>“You have been dangerously unfocused on this case,” Batman continued, keeping his voice detached, “and as you are unwilling or unable to account for evidence to the contrary…”</p>
<p>“Leave this alone, Bruce…” Dick warned. </p>
<p>Batman continued undeterred, “I will not allow you into the field with <i>my</i> team if you are emotionally compromised.”</p>
<p>Instantly furious, Dick strode towards his mentor and screamed, “I am not emotionally compromised!” </p>
<p>Standing inches from Batman, his chest heaving as he drew in deep, shuddering breaths, Dick was suddenly <i>very</i> aware of what he’d just said. Of how obviously wrong he was to everyone in the room. Ashamed, he dropped his head, and said in a whisper, “You're right, Bruce. I’ll go get changed.” </p>
<p>He didn’t look up as he walked to the locker rooms. He couldn’t. If he saw their faces, full of concern and pity…</p>
<p>Damned if Bruce wasn’t right. He was <i>emotionally compromised</i>. A fact he’d tried to deny for so long. Too long. This case, the <i>proximity</i> to Slade… he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Carefully, he removed his mask, then sat heavily on the bench in the center of the room. </p>
<p>He wasn’t going to cry. Because crying meant acknowledging<i> exactly</i> what had happened, and that was something he couldn’t do. Something he could <i>never</i> do. Naming it would make it <i>real</i>. Would pull what had been done to him out of his memories and give it substance. </p>
<p>He wasn’t sure he could cope if <i>it</i> became real. </p>
<p>Buried under the weight of his denial, he didn’t hear Bruce come into the room, with his cowl stripped off and a concerned look on his face. Dick <i>did</i> notice when the man wordlessly sat down next to him, and stared straight ahead at the locker room wall. </p>
<p>“I thought you would have left by now,” Dick said in a hush, not trusting his voice to be any louder. </p>
<p>“Red Robin, Robin, Batgirl, and Spoiler have all deployed to begin surveillance of the Eastside warehouse. Oracle is managing communications,” he replied, his gaze never shifting. </p>
<p>“You should be with them,” Dick observed. </p>
<p>Bruce didn’t reply. Instead he said, “I tried to find a report about your captivity under Deathstroke. I couldn’t.”</p>
<p>Sighing, and not the least bit surprised that Bruce had already put some of the pieces together,  Dick shook his head. “I didn’t file one. The Titans were never as meticulous as you. They didn’t push, and I didn’t volunteer any more information than necessary.” </p>
<p>“Why?” Bruce asked, finally turning to look at Dick. “What happened that kept you from making a report? What is keeping you so… off balance?”</p>
<p>“Slade Wilson was,” Dick paused for a breath, rehearsing his reply so that it was complete, but revealed as a little as possible. “adept at multidisciplinary methods of coercion and enhanced interrogation” </p>
<p>“That is not an answer,” Bruce told him. The words were stern, but not angry. Dick wished he would get angry. Something, <i>anything</i> to deflect from what the man clearly wanted to know. </p>
<p>Bruce simplified the question, enunciating each syllable. “What happened?”</p>
<p>Dick squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Nothing I want to discuss.” A vicious thought followed: </p>
<p><i>Least of all with you</i>.</p>
<p>“We’ll talk about this when I get back,” Bruce said with a sigh. “Be sure to join Oracle on communications. Your insight is still valuable.”</p>
<p>Bruce left without further comment. Dick listened until he heard the Batmobile tear out of the cave before he pulled his knees up to his chest and took one shuddering breath after another. He <i>wouldn't</i> wallow. He <i>wouldn’t</i> cry, or think about it, or even acknowledge the existence of the memories. Wouldn’t fall into the terror that came with the knowledge that Bruce was circling around the truth. </p>
<p>He <i>wouldn’t</i>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Don’t Let Me Be Gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick didn’t change out of his suit like he’d intended when he first came into the locker room. Being <i>Nightwing</i> felt like a much needed armor, right now. He rolled his eyes at the thought - maybe he <i>was</i> getting more like Bruce in his old age. Regardless, he put his mask back on and stood, willing his muscles to stop trembling. </p>
<p>One breath. Two. Three. </p>
<p>Eventually he trusted his body enough to take a step. One foot in front of the other, until he was back in the echoing openness of the cave, sitting in the chair in front of the computer, with a stack of tea sandwiches on a porcelain plate next to him. </p>
<p>“Hey, O. What’d I miss?” Dick asked brightly. Maybe if he made everyone else believe he was fine, he could believe it too. After all, there wasn’t a magic trick in the world that couldn’t benefit from a little showmanship. He wished he could make <i>everything</i> about Slade Wilson just disappear. Abracadabra and the pain would be gone. Too bad nothing <i>really</i> worked like that. </p>
<p>“Was wondering when you’d hop on, short pants,” Oracle replied. “The team just arrived and is beginning perimeter surveillance. Batgirl and Spoiler are confirming potential choke points. The rest are working on a headcount. So nothing exciting yet.” </p>
<p>Dick rocked back in his chair and sighed. “Do we have any visual feed?” </p>
<p>“Bored already?” Oracle teased. “I’ve got some cowl cam footage from B and Double R if you want. Not particularly thrilling, though. They’re just poking around in an alley right now.” </p>
<p>Dick hummed in acknowledgement, then eyed the sandwiches on the plate. He should eat. He <i>knew</i> he should eat. His fingers lingered over one triangle of bread and cucumbers. Why had even the most basic things become so hard? It had been years - <i>years</i> - since he’d struggled like this. He’d moved past it - past what had happened with Slade. He tried to focus on the single task of picking up a sandwich, but his hand was shaking. He clenched it into a fist, then relaxed and tried again. Still, his hand just hovered over the plate.</p>
<p>
  <i>Goddamnit!</i>
</p>
<p>Frustrated, he pulled away. Too quickly. His wrist caught the edge of the china and it tumbled to the stone floor, shattering. The sound sliced into the echoing stillness of the cave and Dick felt the edges of his facade begin to crumble even more...</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>...after two months, Dick started to adjust to the <i>rhythm</i> of life as Slade’s prisoner. Once every five days, he would be sent on a ‘mission’ - generally theft of some component or other. Every three days, give or take, Slade decided that a ‘readjustment’ was in order, and there would be painful, physical punishment administered. At least once a day, Slade would assert his ‘ownership’ of his <i>Apprentice</i> with some form of sexual assault. ‘Training’ occurred continuously in the spaces between.<p>Eating, it seemed, was permitted every <i>other</i> day, like clockwork. So when Dick realized, after some quick mental math, that it had been a full <i>three</i> days since Slade had unceremoniously tossed him a military surplus MRE, he started to get concerned. </p>
<p>By day four, it was hard not to be distracted by hunger. He’d gone longer, of course. But the change in schedule was alarming, and he was running on fumes as it was. He didn’t have a lot of body fat to burn off anymore. </p>
<p>By day <i>five</i>, it was clear. This was some kind of <i>game</i> for Slade. Dick stood just behind his <i>Master</i> as the man ate a meal - real, fresh food. The display was clearly for Dick’s ‘benefit’ - Slade was usually content to eat the same prepackaged mush Dick did. When the mercenary had finished, he motioned for Dick to stand in front of him. </p>
<p>“Kneel.” </p>
<p>It was a familiar order at this point. Usually benign. Dick surmised it made Slade feel powerful, and generally, if he complied, it never progressed further. </p>
<p>Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule. </p>
<p>“Hands behind your back.” </p>
<p><i>This</i> command was more alarming. Dick laced his fingers together at the small of his back and tried to keep his breathing steady. Typically, what followed in <i>this</i> position was a cock being shoved into his mouth. </p>
<p>Slade stood and picked up the plate with his half-eaten meal on it. “You must be hungry,” he said with a smile. “I'd be happy to share if you asked politely.” </p>
<p>Dick did his best to focus, and push back at the fog that made it difficult to think. Eating was <i>essential</i> if he was going to keep plotting an escape and looking for a way to save the Titans. But what Slade wanted…</p>
<p>Resolved, Dick raised his chin and asked with disdain, “May I please have something to eat, <i>Master</i>?”</p>
<p>“That was very good, <i>Apprentice</i>. Of course you may.” Slade sat the plate of discarded food on the floor in front of Dick. “Go ahead, enjoy.” </p>
<p>It wasn’t ideal to eat what effectively amounted to garbage, but Dick wasn’t in a position to be picky. He reached out for the plate, but before his fingertips brushed the ceramic, Slade hit him. Hard. Sending him sprawling to the floor. </p>
<p>“Kneel,” he commanded with impatience. </p>
<p>Dick pulled himself up to his knees yet again. </p>
<p>“Hands behind your back.”</p>
<p>Dick’s mind raced to put the pieces together. What was he missing? What was it that Slade wanted him to <i>do</i>?</p>
<p>“Now eat, before I change my mind.” </p>
<p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p>
<p>Suddenly, it was clear, and Dick would have felt nauseous if there was anything in his stomach for it to rebel against. Slowly, cheeks burning with humiliation, he shifted his position slightly, bent down and grabbed a piece of torn bread from the plate with his teeth, then pulled it into his mouth with his tongue. Carefully, he chose another bite. And another, making sure to keep his hands locked firmly behind his back. </p>
<p>Slade hummed approvingly. “What do you say?” </p>
<p>There was a litany of things Dick would have liked to say. None of them served the purpose of keeping the Titans safe and alive. So he swallowed and replied through clenched teeth, “Thank you, <i>Master</i>.”</p>
<p>Slade growled, “That’s not a very appreciative <i>tone</i> now, is it?” He kicked the plate away and it shattered against the wall. “If you haven’t even learned something as basic as <i>gratitude</i> by now, maybe we need to go back to square one.”</p>
<p>He grabbed a handful of Dick’s hair and twisted, locking his fingers against the boy's scalp. Dick dug into Slade’s wrist and did his best to keep his body from scraping across the floor as he was dragged back to the cell where he was kept when Slade wasn’t <i>using</i> him. The frigid room he’d spent <i>days</i> in immediately after his capture. </p>
<p>Slade unceremoniously tossed him inside and bolted the door, blotting out any light at all. </p>
<p>In the icy darkness, Dick pounded his fists against the iron door and screamed - a desperate, anguished roar. There was no response. He staggered back to the far corner of the room, curled in on himself with his legs tight to his body and stared at the entrance. Watching. Calculating. </p>
<p>Back to square one...</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>“Nightwing, do you read me? Damnit, are <i>all</i> the comms dead,” Oracle’s exasperated voice broke through the horrible silence his mind had pulled him back to. He blinked a few times, reorienting himself, before responding.<p>“I hear you, O. Just lost you for a minute there. What’s the status?” </p>
<p>“Communication with <i>everyone</i> in the field went dark,” Oracle replied, “I’m sending drones to scope out the situation, but it would help if you were en route too, they may need extraction.” </p>
<p>“On it. Keep me updated.”</p>
<p>Dead comms were never a good sign. And with Deathstroke in the mix, Dick knew this could get complicated quickly. He pushed down on all of the memories and flashbacks and <i>emotions</i> this case had pulled out. More than anything, he wanted this finished <i>quickly</i> - when it was all said and done he could go back to pretending like his time with Slade never happened. </p>
<p>With a final, steadying breath, he ran over to his bike and headed out. Eastside wasn't far - a little under ten minutes - and when he arrived, he parked out of sight and looked for an inconspicuous way inside. Silently, Dick slipped through an open window at the back of the warehouse. He should be able to hear <i>something</i> by now. But comms were still dead, and the only other sound he could make out was the hum of an air conditioning system. </p>
<p>This was <i>very</i> wrong. </p>
<p>The team had arrived over fifteen minutes ago. Communications had been dark for <i>ten</i>. There should be a commotion, a fight, <i>anything</i>. Instead, Dick took one soundless step after another into the shadows. </p>
<p>Finally, deeper in the building, there were voices. Derisive, male, roughly a dozen. He paused to listen.</p>
<p>“Five bats sleeping like babies with <i>one</i> shot? This is like magic, where’d you say you got it, Ugly?” </p>
<p>“Picked it up off some Krolotean. Who knows where the hell <i>he</i> got it. Fuckin’ parasites.” </p>
<p>There was some laughing and jeering before a deep, bored voice brought it all to a hush. </p>
<p>“We were discussing the matter of my <i>payment</i>,” Slade said. “I’ve delivered Dr. Park to you, my contract is complete.” </p>
<p>“Not quite there Mister, uh, Deathstroke, was it?” Came the reply, followed by more laughter. “See, we were expecting a scientist so scared out of his mind he’d be begging to help us. You dropped off a guy that’s only beat up and a little pissed. Until he’s ready to deal, your contract ain’t even <i>close</i> to finished.” </p>
<p>Slade growled. “You don’t need to do anything more, now. In a matter of days, you will open the door and find Dr. Park will have a <i>new</i> perspective on your partnership. Sensory deprivation just takes time.” The mercenary stared coolly into the shadows where Dick was crouched. </p>
<p>“Isn’t that right, Nightwing?” </p>
<p>Dick flattened himself against the wall and weighed his options. With his position compromised, he didn’t have long to assess the situation and engage. Above him there was an industrial catwalk - getting the high ground was a <i>very</i> good idea right now. </p>
<p>“There’s no use hiding, little bird,” Slade taunted. “I can hear you breathe, hear your heartbeat. I’m <i>intimately</i> familiar with what you sound like.”</p>
<p>Dick climbed quickly, then flattened himself on the floor of the catwalk and watched as the others - Intergang heavies, he determined - exchanged confused glances. </p>
<p>“We have an unexpected guest,” Slade informed his clients, “I’ll require a bonus once I’ve handled this for you.” </p>
<p>“Nah, fuck that.” One of the men, Ugly, Dick recognized, aimed a large, shoulder mounted device at the darkened hallway where Dick had stood seconds ago, and fired. Dick could feel the oscillating blast pass under him, like a wall of pressurized air. </p>
<p>“There we go, that oughta take care of that,” Ugly smiled.</p>
<p>In the (premature) celebratory commotion, Dick pushed his comm, “O, you still with me?”</p>
<p>“Got you loud and clear, Nightwing. Thought i was losing you too. What <i>was</i> that?”</p>
<p>“Alien tech,” Dick replied, “I’d put money on it being some kind of concussive EMP weapon. Do you have a visual? I’d love some insight on how to wreck it.”</p>
<p>“Drone footage is coming in, but I still can’t ID it. Body count is 14 Intergang idiots and 1 pissed off mercenary,” Oracle reported. </p>
<p>“10-4.”</p>
<p>Dick stood into a crouch, and moved swiftly to the end of the catwalk. He could feel Slade’s eyes tracking him, but that was fine. Slade wasn’t the target - <i>yet</i> - and he wasn’t likely to engage on behalf of Intergang, especially if they were trying to stiff him. While the gangsters started to return to business, Dick executed a plan, the steps following each other in rapid succession. First, a shuriken to the EMP cannon. A successful hit jammed the trigger mechanism, and Ugly dropped it to the ground, swearing angrily. Second, the lights - more razor sharp wingdings shattered the fluorescent tubes, reducing visibility and showering the (now furious) horde with glass. </p>
<p>“You got strobes on those drones, O?” Dick asked.</p>
<p>“You got it,” she replied.</p>
<p>Blinding, pulsing light filled the room. Dick switched the lenses in his mask to track infrared only, then leapt off of the catwalk and into the disoriented group below him. The first two heavies were downed easily when he landed on their shoulders and rolled forward, grabbing for the third and swinging an escrima at his solar plexus. Somebody fired a gun wildly into the melee, hitting another Intergang goon. And it’s not that Dick wasn’t <i>grateful</i> for the crossfire help, but he wasn't looking to get anyone killed, so he turned his attention to the shooter and leveled him with a solid hit to the knee, then a hook across his (apparently glass) jaw.</p>
<p>The rest of the fight continued much the same. One by one, the lackeys hit the concrete. Slade stood at the edge of it all, impassive, with his gaze never wavering as he stared at Dick. </p>
<p>When the last man dropped, Slade walked forward, lazily clapping. “Very impressive. Fourteen in under forty seconds. Well done.” </p>
<p>Dick ignored him, and began to plan for this next encounter. “Can I get floods now, Oracle?” </p>
<p>Without a response, the lights stopped flickering and instead filled the room through the windows. Dick switched his lenses out of IR and narrowed his eyes at Deathstroke. </p>
<p>“Alone at last,” Slade teased.</p>
<p>“Where is Park?” Dick demanded. </p>
<p>“I think you have bigger problems, don't you <i>Apprentice</i>? Like your little moment of panic at the doctor’s hotel room. Don’t think I didn’t notice. I’m sure your ‘Oracle’ is still listening in. Should I let them know <i>why</i> I have such an <i>effect</i> on you?” </p>
<p>Dick clenched his jaw and did his best not to react to that too-familiar voice, and that too-familiar ‘title’. But the threat of <i>anyone</i> knowing… hastily, he tugged his comm out of his ear and dropped it on the ground, then smashed it under his heel. </p>
<p>“Interesting.” Slade cocked his head to the side. “So you really never told them? I wonder, are you concerned they’ll think you’re compromised? Or just ashamed that you were too weak to stop me from taking whatever I pleased?” </p>
<p>This was too much. Dick gripped his escrimas hard and lunged forward. All tactical planning was left behind - washed away by the torrent of emotions that overwhelmed him. Even as he landed blow after furious blow, Slade continued to taunt him.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you still felt so <i>strongly</i> about us. About our <i>time</i> together. Admit it, no matter how many years pass, I’ll always be your Master.”</p>
<p>Dick launched himself up into a flying kick, what should have been a perfectly executed finishing hit, but Slade grabbed his leg and slammed him to the ground. Before Dick could regain his footing, the mercenary placed a heavy, steel plated boot in the center of his back and leaned in. </p>
<p>“Should we get reacquainted? For old times sake? I’m sure you’ve missed me. And it would be so perfect if the big bad Bat came to and saw me <i>owning</i> you again. There would be no hiding it then. They’d all know your dirty little secret.” </p>
<p>No. He <i>wouldn’t</i>. Dick tried to breathe against the pressure and the pain in his still-injured ribs, but each inhale felt like fire, and the short bursts of air only made his head swim. Dick knew he could stop this - could see each step to break the hold, but his arms and legs felt too heavy, too distant. He could feel his awareness slipping - was he in the warehouse, or Slade’s bunker? The concrete in front of his face looked the same, and the harder Slade leaned his weight onto Dick’s back, the harder it got to remember that he wasn’t still a prisoner. That his family’s lives didn’t depend on him just shutting up and <i>taking</i> it. </p>
<p>A commotion from one of the back rooms of the warehouse pulled his attention closer to reality. Slade looked up and snarled, then stepped away. </p>
<p>“Another time, perhaps,” he said with a laugh, then he slipped into the shadows and disappeared. </p>
<p>Getting off the ground was essential. Dick knew that was the next step, now that Slade was gone.  And with no weight on his back, it should have been <i>simple</i>. Still, he laid on the cold concrete, trying to find his breath. He needed to get <i>up</i>. Either Intergang reinforcements were arriving, or Batman and the others had come to and were making their way back to the main area of the warehouse. It didn't matter who it was, he needed to be on his feet. Slowly, <i>slowly</i>, he inched himself up to his elbows and knees, put one foot under himself, then another, and finally stood. </p>
<p>He was shaky, but upright, when Batgirl came into view and shouted back to the others, “Here!”</p>
<p>By the time Batman came into the open space with Dr. Park, bruised but alive, Dick felt more steady, even <i>if</i> Bruce was staring at him with an angry, disapproving glare. </p>
<p>And once he was back in the open, echoing caverns of the Batcave, he felt firmly grounded in <i>this</i> reality. Slade <i>wasn’t</i> breathing down his neck. His secret was still safe. He just had to wrap up this case and go home, and he'd never have to face his family’s shame and disgust. He parked his bike, changed back into his civvies, and walked over to a table near the computer where Alfred had placed a light meal for everyone, and where the others were talking excitedly.</p>
<p>“Did you <i>see</i> him? He just jumped in… and the strobe lights? That was very, <i>very</i> cool.” Steph hadn’t stopped gushing since they arrived back at the cave. She had watched some of the drone footage from the warehouse on the way back, and decided to regale them all with an embellished tale of the rescue. </p>
<p>Tim listened with mild amusement. “Regardless of the specifics, it was still a <i>serious</i> win. You saved our butts.” With a heavy sigh, and a nod toward the Medbay, he continued, “Looks like B wants a word, though. And I don’t think that word is ‘congratulations’.”</p>
<p>Dick glanced over his shoulder and saw Batman glaring at him through the glass medbay doors. With a resigned sigh, he smiled at Tim and headed over to Bruce. </p>
<p>Dick had an inkling what this was about. He’d disobeyed. A dressing down was apparently in order, but he wasn’t going to go without a chance to explain. “Look, B. I know I was benched, but comms went dark so I made a tactical decision…”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me,” Batman interrupted</p>
<p>There was rage hidden in the whispered question. Dick could feel it practically radiating through Bruce’s suit. It was clear he knew <i>something</i>, but Dick didn’t know <i>how much</i>, so he feigned ignorance. </p>
<p>“What are you talking about?” </p>
<p>Bruce turned away and clenched his fists. “You said you never filed a report to account for the time you spent as Deathstroke’s prisoner. But I needed information, so I accessed the semantic data from Cyborg’s processors that are stored in Justice League computers. Dick, I thought you were his captive a week. At most, two…” </p>
<p>Bruce tugged off his cowl and turned. His expression was so torn between sorrow, grief, and fury that Dick felt disoriented just <i>looking</i> at him. </p>
<p>“Nearly six months. <i>Six months</i>.” Bruce shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”</p>
<p>For a moment, they stood in silence. Dick wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “Why didn’t I tell you?” He echoed quietly. </p>
<p>“Why couldn’t you just <i>leave this alone</i>, Bruce? Why does <i>everything</i> in my life have to be an open book to you? Why can’t I have <i>one</i> thing that nobody has taken from me?!” </p>
<p>The levee was breaking. He could feel it. Thick concrete barriers he’d built between his present and his past cracked and buckled. He wanted nothing more than to make it <i>stop</i>. But the chain reaction was already underway, and the sheer volume of emotion threatened to make his ribs explode. </p>
<p>
  <i>Not here. Not now. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Not here. Not now.</i>
</p>
<p>He turned away, facing the wall. Tears were stinging at the corners of his eyes and the last thing he wanted to see was Bruce looking at him with <i>pity</i>. </p>
<p>“I’m not trying to take anything from you, Dick,” Bruce said quietly, “I’m just trying to help. Just trying to understand.” </p>
<p>“I'd have thought the ‘world's greatest detective’ would have had this all figured out by now,” Dick spat. “Then again, your kid sidekick was missing for nearly <i>six months</i> without you knowing, so maybe that title doesn’t fit as well as it used to.”</p>
<p>That was a low blow and he knew it. How was Bruce supposed to understand <i>any</i> of this when Dick had worked so hard to keep it all concealed? He sighed and shook his head, feeling suddenly hollow. </p>
<p>“I think I should go home,” he said in a hush. </p>
<p>“Dick, I just want...” Bruce began, stepping close and blocking the door. </p>
<p>“No.” Dick was angry again. Why wouldn’t Bruce just <i>drop</i> this? “This is not some <i>mystery</i> for you to solve. My life isn’t <i>evidence</i> for you to rifle through. Everyone has their secrets, Bruce. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”</p>
<p>“When those secrets endanger you and the people around you, I’m not left with much <i>choice</i> but to investigate,” Bruce said as he continued to stand in the way of the exit. </p>
<p>Pinned down, Dick turned to face Bruce. “Endanger? Come on, I know you were unconscious for most of it, but <i>I</i> successfully extracted everyone from that warehouse tonight. Park is safe, Intergang is licking their wounds, and no one on the team got hurt…”</p>
<p>“You broke communications before you engaged a highly trained and dangerous mercenary! Oracle maintained visual contact - I saw you destroy your comm unit!”</p>
<p>Bruce’s sudden fury... The blocked path to the door... Dick pressed as far back against the wall as he could go and fought against what he <i>knew</i> was hyperventilation. </p>
<p>
  <i>Not here. Not now. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Please. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Not here. Not now.</i>
</p>
<p>“Let me through, Bruce,” Dick demanded. </p>
<p>“No. We’re not finished discussing this.” Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a critical look at Dick. </p>
<p>Trapped. He was trapped. No way out. He had to get out. He had to…</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>...The unrelenting darkness gave Dick no hint as to how long it had been since Slade smashed his hopes of eating and locked him away again. At first, he tried to count his heartbeats. Sixty five beats per minute, one thousand four hundred and forty minutes a day. A rough count to 100,000 would mean a single day had passed. But he could barely focus long enough to make it beyond 1000.<p>Then he counted drips in the small utility sink in the corner. Though that was a useless way to mark time - there was no steadiness to the hollow <i>plunk plunk</i> of the water against steel. </p>
<p>Still, if he had to guess, it seemed like three days had passed before Slade opened the door again. Dick knew better than to attempt to attack him. He was far too cold, too hungry, too weak. Engaging Slade now would only mean more pain. </p>
<p>Slade placed a bag on the floor and slid it into the room. “Food. Unless… you’d like to ask to come out, now?”</p>
<p>Was it that simple? </p>
<p>“Please, may I come out now, <i>Master</i>?” Dick asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. </p>
<p>“That was good, Apprentice,” Slade replied. </p>
<p>Dick started to get to his feet, but something vicious in the man’s smile made him pause. </p>
<p>“Good. But not good enough,” the mercenary said with a chuckle, just before he slammed and bolted the door again. </p>
<p>After sinking to the floor, Dick slowly pulled the bag of food towards him. It was… a lot. Going by how much Slade <i>usually</i> fed him, this was a week's worth of supplies. </p>
<p>A <i>week</i>. </p>
<p>Dick bit the inside of his cheek to stop the tears. He wasn’t going to give up hope. He <i>wasn’t</i>. The Titans needed him to be strong. Needed him to keep going. There wasn’t a choice. Besides, it was <i>just</i> a week. He’d been put through worse for longer. He barked out a laugh when he realized that a week locked in his cell meant a week without Slade raping him. </p>
<p>Silver linings. </p>
<p>Tentatively, Dick tore into a packet of food. Beef and Noodle, he identified, once the smell hit him. He closed his eyes and did his best to imagine being somewhere, <i>anywhere</i> else. But the chill in the room kept him from wandering too far. It was hard to picture warm beds and happy places when he couldn’t stop shivering. </p>
<p>There was one packet of food left when Slade opened the door again and wordlessly slid more into the room. Dick seized the opportunity, hoping that taking the initiative would be enough to secure his release. </p>
<p>“Please, Master.<i> Please</i>. May I come out now?” He knew he was begging and he didn’t care. </p>
<p>Slade didn’t even acknowledge him, and the door was shut once again. </p>
<p>Terrified, Dick scrabbled over to the bag of food, and couldn’t hold back the sobs as he counted and recounted. Seven. Enough, this time, for <i>two</i> weeks. Two weeks in the darkness and cold before he’d even have another <i>chance</i> to get out…</p>
<p>No. He wasn’t going to think like that. He <i>wasn’t</i> going to let this break him. That’s what Slade wanted, after all. So Dick got to his feet and started pacing. Moving. Slow at first, then quicker, more complicated maneuvers, warming his sore, disused muscles. There wasn’t much space, but it was enough. It <i>had</i> to be. He wasn’t going to let Slade make him any weaker than he already was. </p>
<p>He hoped the time would go faster if he just kept moving. </p>
<p>It didn’t. </p>
<p>He was asleep the next time Slade came into the cell. Blearily, he looked up at the man crouched over him. </p>
<p>“Do you have anything you’d like to say?” Slade asked him with amusement. </p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Dick spat. “It didn't matter what I said before. Why would it matter now?”</p>
<p>“Not what I expected,” Slade said with a laugh. He looked… <i>impressed</i>. To Dick, that felt like a massive victory, and he smiled, for once not caring about the repercussions. </p>
<p>“Maybe I’ve let you have too much freedom in here.” Slade tugged on one of Dick’s wrists, pulling it up towards the manacles still hanging on the wall from <i>before</i>. Those bleak, empty, early days where he couldn't do anything but sag uselessly against the cement with his knees tucked under him. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry. Please, don’t. I’m sorry…” Panic buried any of Dick’s earlier brazenness. He’d already spent weeks in this damned room - he wasn't sure he could bear <i>any</i> more time, much less chained to the wall. </p>
<p>“You’re <i>sorry</i>?” Slade said with disdain. He dropped Dick’s arm. “Prove it. Kneel.”</p>
<p>Even though Dick had been spared these assaults while in his cell, he hadn’t forgotten them. He didn't want to think too hard about how <i>automatic</i> it was for him to bring himself to his knees and lace his hands behind his back. Slade stood in front of him and unfastened his belt, then freed his half-hard cock from his pants. Dick relaxed his jaw and waited. </p>
<p>Slade was nothing if not a creature of habit. Usually, he would grab Dick by the back of the head and drive into his mouth. All Dick had to do was time his breathing and hold as steady as possible until it was done, when he would be forced to swallow. So he was confused when Slade looked down at him, impatient, and said, “Go on. Show me how sorry you <i>really</i> are.”</p>
<p>The man chuckled at the bewildered expression on Dick’s face. “You can use your hands, too. Might make it easier for you. After all, this isn't me <i>punishing</i> you. This is you, atoning for your attitude.”</p>
<p>Dick felt sick. Slade had always done things <i>to</i> him. He was passive, either allowing the punishment or fighting against it. This was…</p>
<p>Slade was making him act like a willing <i>participant</i>. Was the man really going to take this last shred of dignity, too? But what else could he do? The ice cold cement at his back, and the iron cuffs still swaying over his head were reminders of what would happen if he <i>didn’t</i> give Slade what he wanted. So, slowly, he opened his mouth and leaned forward, resting his hands on the man’s thighs. Once Slade’s cock was fully seated at the back of his throat, he started bobbing his head - quick, efficient movements he hoped would bring this to its conclusion as swiftly as possible. </p>
<p>Slade tangled his fingers in Dick’s hair and metered the pace. “Slow it down, little bird, I want to <i>enjoy</i> myself.”</p>
<p>Dick gagged at the thought. Slade shushed him harshly. </p>
<p>Each languid drag of Dick’s tongue over the mercenary’s cock felt more humiliating than the last. Then, <i>finally</i>, Slade pulled back and sprayed Dick’s face with cum. It felt searing hot on his icy cheeks, and he looked down at Slade’s boots so the man couldn’t see what a debauched sight he must make. </p>
<p>“Now,” Slade sighed contentedly as he tucked himself away and buckled his belt, “do you have something you’d like to ask me?”</p>
<p>“May I please come out now, Master?” Dick barely recognized his own voice - scratchy and unsure. </p>
<p>Slade shrugged, as if considering, and walked toward the hallway.</p>
<p>“No,” he replied. Then he bolted the door, leaving Dick in the cold and dark once again...</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>“What did you do, Bruce?”<p>Tim’s voice sounded sharp. Angry. </p>
<p>Bruce didn’t answer. Instead, he stood toward the back of the room in silence.</p>
<p>“Dick, you ok? You kind of spaced out there. We’re sure he doesn’t have a concussion?” Tim directed that last question behind him. To the family. The <i>entire</i> family, crowding around him, staring at him, concerned…</p>
<p>Dick carefully pushed Tim back, then got his feet under himself and stood. When had he ended up on the floor? The empty space in his memory wasn’t unfamiliar, but given that everyone was <i>here</i>, watching him, it was <i>very</i> unwelcome. </p>
<p>“It’s not a concussion. It was a trauma-induced dissociative episode. He’s been having them since this case began. The proximity to Slade Wilson is triggering them.” Bruce reported the information in his usual quiet, detached way. Like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of Dick’s already buckling psyche.  </p>
<p>“Goddamnit, Bruce! That wasn’t… how dare you tell them! How dare you even go digging in the first place!” Dick tried to take deep breaths. Tried to avoid the worried expressions that each member of his <i>family</i> now wore. </p>
<p>“What? Why?” Steph asked Bruce. </p>
<p>“Don’t,” Dick pleaded, “Please don't do this.”</p>
<p>There was a sad resolve in Bruce’s expression when he answered Stephanie, “We were <i>all</i> aware of the fact that Dick spent time as Deathstroke's prisoner - it was the <i>amount</i> of time that was in question. I’ve confirmed it was 5 months, twenty eight days.”</p>
<p>Dick hung his head. He knew they were all staring at him, incredulous and pitying. The unspoken question,<i> ‘what did he do to you’</i>, burned at his skin, and he suddenly needed to be somewhere, <i>anywhere</i> else. Without looking up, he pushed his way to the door and into the openness of the cave. Gasping and trembling, he took off for his bike.</p>
<p>“Dick,” Tim began, following him, “you don’t have to stay <i>here</i>, I get it. But let me take you to the penthouse. I don’t think you should be <i>driving</i>. Or alone.” </p>
<p>Dick knew Tim was trying to be helpful. Trying to grapple with something he didn’t fully understand. He didn't want <i>any</i> of them to understand. </p>
<p>“I’m fine,” he said with more sharpness than was necessary. “Leave me alone.”</p>
<p>Without looking back, Dick climbed onto his bike and rocketed out of the cave. </p>
<p>Truthfully, he didn't make it far. He knew he was losing control. His vision was blurring, his muscles clenching and trembling. Driving wasn’t <i>safe</i> right now. He <i>knew</i> that before he left the cave. Even Tim came to that conclusion. So he pulled over near the curb at Robinson Park, and climbed off of his bike. </p>
<p>The haze that came with these “dissociative episodes”, as Bruce had so clinically called them, was creeping in. He wandered the paths of the park, and lost touch with time. He was sitting on a bench, somewhere deep in the wooded trails, when he was pulled sharply back to reality by a terrified scream. The flood of adrenaline that followed sharpened his focus, and he climbed through the underbrush in the direction of the sound. </p>
<p>In a small clearing, he saw a group of men, jeering and armed, closing in on a young woman. </p>
<p>No. He was absolutely <i>not</i> going to watch this happen, regardless of the fact that the world started to blur around him again. Regardless of the fact that he couldn't focus enough to tell if there were three men, or just one, terrifying and imposing shadow from his nightmares. </p>
<p>Enraged, he barrelled into the clearing and tackled the first man. They both slammed into the trunk of a large tree, and Dick felt something in his shoulder <i>give</i>. A stupid, careless mistake. But there were still two assailants left, and it couldn’t matter.  He turned and lunged at the second, wrenching the knife from his hand and driving his elbow into the back of the man’s head. </p>
<p>The third man looked white-faced and terrified. He tried to run, and he backed away from Dick in a panic. Growling, Dick took him to the ground, straddling his hips as he punched him. Over and over. His breathing became ragged as the woods around him faded away…</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>… “Get up.”<p>Dick looked up when Slade’s words finally broke the long silence he’d endured. Haltingly, he stood, and raised his chin defiantly at the mercenary. Somewhere along the way, he’d resolved to <i>never</i> beg again. It was useless, anyway. Just another tool in Slade’s arsenal of humiliation. </p>
<p>Slade motioned for him to leave the room, and Dick hesitated. This was a trick. A ploy to give him hope so that it could be ripped away. He’d learned <i>that</i> lesson. He made no attempt to leave. </p>
<p>“I thought you could use a shower. But if you’d rather stay in here…” Slade shrugged and began to close the door. </p>
<p>“Wait!” Dick said urgently, “I’ll come.” </p>
<p>Slowly, he walked past Slade and out of the cell. The hallway was unbearably bright, and he squinted against it. </p>
<p>“Keep moving, little bird,” Slade admonished, then grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along. After a dozen paces, Slade shoved him into a locker room with shower stalls at the far end. </p>
<p>“Five minutes. Wash up,” Slade instructed. </p>
<p>Suspicious, Dick watched as Slade left the room before he stripped off his clothes and turned on a shower head. There wasn’t any soap, and the water was scalding hot, but he didn’t care - he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be clean and warm. </p>
<p>When he stepped away from the shower, he saw fresh clothes folded where his filthy ones lay minutes ago. Still on edge, waiting for the blowback, Dick dressed quickly and stepped back into the hall where Slade was waiting. </p>
<p>Again, the mercenary grabbed his arm and tugged him along. Finally, at the end of the hallway, he opened a door and shoved Dick inside. </p>
<p>“Your new room. An upgrade,” Slade said. There was a certain lilt to the words that screamed <i>danger</i>, but Dick couldn’t focus on it. This room was warm, and well lit. There was a bare cot against the wall, a chair, a sink, a toilet. Amenities found in any prison cell, but Dick felt <i>grateful</i>. Then nauseous, because he knew gratitude towards any captor was <i>poison</i>. </p>
<p>This wasn’t Slade finding his humanity. This was a display of power, and leverage. A fact that soon became exceedingly clear. </p>
<p>“What do you say, Apprentice?” Slade asked darkly. </p>
<p>Terrified he might lose what meager privileges he <i>did</i> have, Dick whispered, “thank you, Master.” </p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s <i>good enough</i>,” Slade growled. </p>
<p>Dick felt Slade grab his hair and wrench his head back, taking him to the floor. Flat on his stomach, Dick tried to push up to his elbows, but Slade was already on top of him and still had an iron grip on his scalp. </p>
<p>“I think you owe me something in return for my generosity, Apprentice,” Slade huffed as he ripped at Dick’s pants. He heard the mercenary spit, and felt it slide down his skin where the man rubbed it in before pushing two fingers inside of him. </p>
<p>Dick had learned that fighting back only made it hurt worse. Usually, when Slade wanted <i>this</i>, he kept as still as possible until it was over. But when a third finger pressed in, he started to panic. When a fourth was added, and he could feel the searing pain of flesh tearing, and he clawed at the floor, doing anything he could to get away from the intrusion. </p>
<p>When he felt Slade’s thumb mercilessly rip into him, too, he screamed, kicking uselessly. He tried to roll, tried to do <i>anything</i> to make it end. He could feel blood tracing paths down his thighs and dripping onto the floor. </p>
<p>Any resolve to no longer beg was gone. </p>
<p>“Please, please. Stop. Please…”</p>
<p>“I’m not hearing <i>gratitude</i> yet,” Slade said calmly as he started to spread his fingers wide. </p>
<p>Sobbing, Dick barely managed to sputter, “thank you, th-thank you…” </p>
<p>And then the hand was gone. </p>
<p>Dick gasped in relief. But the reprieve only lasted a moment - Slade’s cock slammed into him, next, and his whole body jerked with the force of the man’s  thrusts. </p>
<p>“You’re welcome, Apprentice,” Slade cooed. </p>
<p>To Dick, it seemed like only seconds passed before Slade groaned and pulled away. Or hours. He wasn’t sure. His mind had wandered as far away from the brutality as possible. But eventually, he was free enough to roll to his side. </p>
<p>“Clean yourself up, Apprentice,” Slade said, amused, as he walked to the door. “You have twenty minutes, and then you will be training. We have to make up for your laziness these past weeks.”</p>
<p>Once he was alone, Dick reached between his thighs, and was horrified when he pulled his hand back, completely covered in dark, slick blood.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>“Dick, stop!”<p>The familiar voice and the grip on his arm snapped reality back into focus. Dick looked at his raised, bloody fist in alarm, and then down at the whimpering, beaten man beneath him. </p>
<p>“Dick, it’s alright. Let’s back away.”</p>
<p>The voice, <i>Bruce</i>, spoke in calming tones. Dick slid away from the battered man and onto the grass. There was a woman, he remembered. Three assailants. He intervened…</p>
<p>He surveyed the clearing. All three men were still there. Bleeding and barely conscious. Dick looked up at Bruce, questioning. </p>
<p>“The victim is safe,” Bruce assured him. “I saw her. The police are with her now, but they’ll be <i>here</i> soon, and I think we <i>shouldn’t</i> be. Come on. I’ll take you home.”</p>
<p>Still dazed, Dick nodded. Bruce helped him to his feet. Together, they shuffled to the idling car. Bruce maneuvered Dick into the passenger seat, then drove off. </p>
<p>Once the park was out of sight, Dick asked quietly, “how did you find me?”</p>
<p>Bruce sighed. “I tracked your motorcycle to make sure you’d make it home. When you stopped at Robinson Park, I knew something was wrong. Given the incident at the cave, I thought you might need assistance.”</p>
<p><i>’The incident’</i>, Dick thought bitterly. He’d almost forgotten. Pieces of the secret he’d kept for years had been ripped away from him. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” Bruce didn’t look away from the road when he spoke, but Dick could see genuine sadness in his expression anyway. </p>
<p>“I get why you told them,” Dick sighed. “I understand why it makes me a liability…”</p>
<p>“No. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were imprisoned for that long. I should have. I thought I was giving you space. Time with the Titans. I was wrong,” Bruce interrupted. </p>
<p>Dick took a few uneasy breaths. He didn’t realize how badly he’d needed to hear those words. How much he needed to know he wasn’t so expendable or forgettable. “It’s not your fault. I did everything I could to keep it from you. Even the Titans didn’t know how <i>bad</i> it was. I was ashamed. I was worried you’d think I was weak. Damaged. I tried to get back on my feet with the team, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that they pitied me or thought I was less capable. So I left them, came back to Gotham, but…”</p>
<p>“But then I took Robin from you. Told you that your allegiances seemed torn,” Bruce said in a regretful whisper, as if he’d just realized the damage he’d caused. “Dick, I meant that you had split your time between Gotham and the Titans, not…”</p>
<p>“Not Deathstroke,” Dick supplied. “I know that, now. I didn’t then. But I resolved to never let you know what had happened, or how long I was his prisoner. I didn’t want to give you any more reason to question my loyalties.”</p>
<p>Dick pressed his forehead to the window and watched the city lights flicker past him. </p>
<p>“What <i>did</i> happen, Dick?”</p>
<p>“What do you want me to say,” Dick replied quietly, desperately. “That I spent my sixteenth birthday chained in a stress position, hoping I might die when the pain became unbearable? That, of the six months I was with <i>him</i>, I spent at least three in a small, dark, freezing room that was barely big enough for me to lie down in - sometimes for <i>weeks</i> at a time? That every chance he got he…”</p>
<p>Dick stopped abruptly and shook his head. That part, the <i>humiliation</i> of it, was something he couldn’t say. Certainly not to Bruce. He felt the car pull up to a curb, heard Bruce shift into park, but he couldn’t look up. </p>
<p>“You’re home, Dick,” Bruce announced, ignoring the blatant subtext for now. “Let me come upstairs with you. I won’t stay if you don't want me to. But you have lacerations on your hands that need suturing - it's easier if someone helps.”</p>
<p>Numbly, Dick nodded, and the pair climbed the stairs to his apartment in silence. Inside, he sank down onto his couch and pulled the medkit out from underneath it. He rifled through, pulling out the necessary supplies, and tried his best not to make his shoulder injury obvious. </p>
<p>His best was not good enough.</p>
<p>“Dislocated?” Bruce asked with a nod.</p>
<p>Dick shook his head, “just subluxed. I’ll take care of it later.”</p>
<p>Ignoring him, Bruce sat on the coffee table and braced his hand against Dick’s chest, then tugged his arm firmly. </p>
<p>“It’s - ah - more stubborn than that. It needs more of a ‘whack it into a wall’ reduction than something that clinical,” Dick told him. “Really, I’ll get it later.”</p>
<p>“Hn,” was the only reply before Bruce jerked <i>hard</i>, and Dick felt the joint click back into place. </p>
<p>“Hands,” Bruce said, ignoring Dick’s pained hiss as he rotated his arm. </p>
<p>Dutifully, if only to avoid conversation and to get the man to leave sooner, Dick placed his left hand in Bruce’s and handed him a suture kit. Gently, Bruce swabbed the cuts, then stopped, and looked up.</p>
<p>“For what it's worth, I’ve never once questioned ‘where your loyalties lie’. And I know how strong you are, I would never consider you ‘damaged’.”</p>
<p>“You might. If you knew,” Dick whispered. </p>
<p>“I know that you mentioned ‘enhanced interrogation’,” Bruce said quietly, “and i know one of the fundamental techniques of EI is sexual humiliation. I can infer from there what he put you through. But that doesn’t mean you’re <i>damaged</i>, Dick.”</p>
<p>Something deep inside Dick’s mind shattered at the words. The pain and hurt that he’d spent years denying spilled out in a rush of grief, and his body shuddered with sobs he could no longer suppress. He collapsed forward onto Bruce, and the man carefully wrapped his arms around Dick’s trembling shoulders. </p>
<p>
  <i>Not damaged. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Not. Damaged. </i>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m so sorry,” Dick said with gasping breaths. </p>
<p>With a furrowed brow, Bruce grabbed Dick’s arms and looked him in the eye. “No. You will <i>not</i> apologize for this. You will <i>not</i> internalize this. Is that understood?” </p>
<p>The brusqueness pulled Dick up short, and his breath hitched uncomfortably as he tried to pull himself back together. </p>
<p>Bruce softened. “You have done <i>nothing</i> wrong. You’ve survived in a nearly unsurvivable scenario. You are not, and have never been, <i>damaged</i>.”</p>
<p>Silence followed. Bruce finished the stitching - three on the left hand, two on the right. </p>
<p>“Are you going to tell them?” Dick asked in a hush as Bruce threw away the spent medical supplies. </p>
<p>After a considering pause, Bruce replied. “I think they should know. Not because you’re a ‘liability’ as you put it. But because they represent a considerable amount of resources. Tim and Barbara would be excellent at making sure you’re not blindsided by Deathstroke’s presence again. Cassandra is a profound listener. Stephanie has firsthand experience with the trauma of torture. And Damian…”</p>
<p>“No,” Dick interrupted, “Please. Damian can <i>never</i> know.”</p>
<p>“He wouldn’t idolize you any less. But this is all <i>your</i> decision, Dick. It should have been from the beginning.” </p>
<p>More silence. Dick lamented, now more than ever, the awkwardness between them. Bruce sat down and shifted uncomfortably in a chair across from the sofa. </p>
<p>Dick sighed heavily, sensing an unspoken request. “Bruce, if you want to keep an eye on me tonight, I can take the couch. I'd prefer <i>that</i> over waking up in the middle of the night to find you staring in my window. And we both know I would. I’ve found batsnack wrappers on my fire escape before.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bruce said, pretending offense, “and there is no such thing as a bat snack. But if you <i>need</i> me…” </p>
<p>Dick closed his eyes, feeling more tired than he had in awhile. “I need you, Bruce. And I’m sorry I didn’t say that sooner.”</p>
<p>“I think you <i>did</i> say it. I just wasn’t paying attention.” Bruce pulled a blanket down over Dick’s shoulders, then settled back into his chair. “Get some sleep, now.”</p>
<p>As Dick felt himself drift into a warm, calm haze, feeling safe for the first time in a <i>very</i> long time, he swore he heard the whispered vow, “I promise he will <i>never</i> hurt you again.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Inside Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A third chapter was never in the plan. But more than a handful of 'fans' and a weird dream changed my mind. So here it is the third and absolutely non-negotiably final chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>...the water was freezing. Of course it was. Everything about his time with Slade was frigid. Dick gasped for air when the mercenary pulled his head up out of the large basin of ice water. A brief reprieve before his face was plunged in again. Each dunk seemed to last a little longer, and after the fourth or fifth repetition, Dick thought Slade might actually kill him this time. He tried to keep count - focus on anything other than his burning lungs, or the panic that came with the feeling of drowning. One hundred and twenty-five seconds. Much longer and Dick knew he would be outstripping the best he could do under his training with Bruce.</p><p>Slade pulled him up once again and growled, “when I order you to attack someone, <i>anyone</i>, what do you say?”</p><p>Dick took a moment to gulp down a breath or two. He knew defiance was harshly punished. He was starting not to care. The Titans were still at risk, so rebellions had to be kept small, and to a minimum, but he’d learned Slade’s patterns well enough to know he wouldn’t kill them for minor infractions. A fact that allowed him brief moments to keep his sanity and fight back.</p><p>“What do you say?!” Slade demanded again. </p><p>“Get fucked, <i>Master</i>,” Dick snarked with the best smile he could manage. </p><p>Underwater again. Dick didn’t dare struggle. Not only was it pointless, with his hands tied behind his back and Slade’s unrelenting grip on his neck, but it would waste oxygen he couldn’t spare. So he let his body relax as much as possible in the painfully bent position he was forced into, and hoped he wouldn’t drown. </p><p>Or maybe he hoped he <i>would</i>. And then, at least, this would all be over. </p><p>Though if he died there would be nothing to stop Slade from slaughtering the Titans. So, no. Death was <i>not</i> an option. He just wished, some days, it was. </p><p>As his awareness started to blacken and fade, he was pulled out of the water and thrown onto the floor. He landed painfully on his bound hands, and immediately rolled to the side to cough and gasp and shiver. </p><p>“Get up!”</p><p>Slade was shaking as he screamed. The mercenary’s mastery of his own emotions was starting to slip. This was no longer a controlled punishment - this was an outlet for rage. The thought that Slade might finally be losing his grip gave Dick hope. Angry people make <i>mistakes</i>; mistakes lead to exploitable openings. And after (what he could only guess was) four months of this, he could use any advantage he could get. </p><p>He just had to live long enough to take his shot. A prospect that looked bleak, given that Slade had started brutally kicking him in the stomach. Dick pulled his knees up to his chest to protect himself, which only enraged the man further. Slade snarled and grabbed Dick by his throat, then heaved him to his feet. </p><p>Slade pressed his lips to the shell of Dick’s ear and whispered menacingly, “It would be so easy to snap your neck.  You forget who holds the power, here. It makes me wonder if you care about your little <i>friends</i> at all. Killing them would be even easier than killing you.” </p><p>Dick was already shivering from cold, but the thought sent a deeper, more visceral tremble through his muscles, and Slade smiled. He pulled out a small device that Dick instantly recognized as the mechanism used to activate the nanobots infesting the Titans. The trigger that would <i>destroy</i> them. With a strangled cry of horror, Dick watched as Slade pressed the button. </p><p>“It’s a terrible way to die,” Slade remarked with a laugh as he released Dick and watched him collapse to the floor. “Roughly five minutes of agony before it ends, unless I stop it. Of course, that means you have five minutes to <i>apologize</i>. You’ll want to be sincere. Your friends are running out of time.” </p><p>“Please,” Dick gasped, righting himself onto his knees and shuffling toward Slade. “Please. <i>Master</i>. Don’t hurt them. I’m sorry. I’ll obey your orders, I promise. <i>Please</i> don’t hurt them.” </p><p>“Four minutes left and I’m not satisfied. Try <i>harder</i>.” Slade’s earlier rage had evaporated, and his usual dispassionate cruelty had firmly settled back into place. </p><p>Dick’s chest heaved as he tried to think of something, <i>anything</i> to stop this. This was <i>his</i> fault. If he didn’t fix this, the Titans would die. Because of <i>him</i>. Because he just <i>had</i> to get a jab in. With his hands still tied behind his back, there was so little he could manage. Nauseous at the thought of debasing himself further, he moved closer to Slade and mouthed over the man’s clothed cock, hoping <i>that</i> might be enough. </p><p>Slade stepped back, and Dick fell forward. His cheek slammed to the concrete between Slade’s legs. </p><p>“I don’t want a whore,” the mercenary sighed, “I want a loyal <i>apprentice</i>. Three minutes.”</p><p>Dick was starting to panic. The Titans had already been in agony for two minutes. What if they were on a mission, mid-fight? What if Slade’s countdown was wrong, and they had even less time? Dick focused on the laces of the boot in front of his face and recoiled at his own thought. </p><p>Still, he had to try. </p><p>Slowly, tentatively, he ran his tongue up the side of Slade’s combat boot, ignoring the taste of leather and metal. When the man didn’t pull away, he continued his efforts, bathing the toe of the shoe, then the eyelets, carefully cleaning every part. He flicked his eyes up to see a satisfied look on Slade’s face. </p><p>“Very good. Very <i>creative</i>, Apprentice.” The mercenary removed his thumb from the trigger and turned off the device. “Your friends live to see another day.” </p><p>Dick breathed a sigh of relief and started to right himself, but Slade pushed his head back down with his foot. </p><p>“I don’t think you’re finished.”</p><p>Disgusted, Dick turned his attention to the other boot, repeating the task. When it was over, he returned to a kneel and was only barely surprised by Slade’s cock hanging out of the unbuttoned fly of his pants. </p><p>“You were so <i>eager</i>, earlier,” Slade said with a cruel smile, “what sort of Master would I be if I denied you something you so <i>clearly</i> wanted. Open your mouth.” </p><p>Dick closed his eyes, ashamed of his tears, and obeyed...</p><div class="center">
  <p>----------</p>
</div>With a sharp, sudden inhale, Dick sat up. His ribs and shoulder ached with the too-quick movement, and he surveyed the living room with a wince. He was still foggy and disoriented from the rapidly fading nightmare, but he knew <i>something</i> was missing. <p>Some<i>one</i>. Bruce. </p><p>Groaning, Dick stood, then headed back to the bedroom. Maybe a miracle happened, and Bruce actually took care of himself for once - if so, he might be in Dick’s room sound asleep. </p><p>There <i>was</i> someone snoring noisily on top of his covers, but it wasn’t Bruce. Tim was sprawled out on the bed, still in jeans and a t-shirt, drooling on the pillow.  Dick cleared his throat loudly and waited as Tim jolted and found his bearings. Blearily, he wiped at his eyes and blinked slowly. </p><p>“I’m super proud of you for <i>sleeping</i>, Tim,” Dick said with a smile, “but is there any particular reason you're doing it here? In my apartment? In my <i>bed</i>?”</p><p>Tim pulled himself over to the edge of the bed and stretched. “B had to go do something. Said it was ‘mission critical’? He asked me to come here and…”</p><p>“Babysit me,” Dick supplied sourly. </p><p>“Not in those words, but… yeah.” Tim looked at Dick with a guilty expression. “He’s worried about you. We <i>all</i> are.” </p><p>“I’m fine,” Dick said, hoping he sounded reassuring instead of bitter. “Honestly. It was a long time ago, and apparently I had some unresolved issues, but it’s settled now.”</p><p>In spite of Bruce’s ‘recommendation’, Dick had no <i>intention</i> of telling Tim, or <i>anyone</i>, what happened. The ‘family’ already knew too much. So Dick forced a smile and filled the suspicious silence. “You want breakfast?”</p><p>“That depends,” Tim replied with skepticism, “is it going to be one of those health-nut smoothies you keep in your freezer? If so, hard pass.”</p><p>“They’re good for you, and you need to eat better,” Dick admonished playfully, “but we can go out if you're not in the mood for black sesame and banana this early in the morning.”</p><p>Tim cringed. “Yeah, not sure its the <i>time of day</i> that's the issue there. Out sounds good.”</p><p>“Alright,” Dick conceded with a smile, “But I have to get changed, so give me a minute.” </p><p>Tim shrugged and padded out to the living room. Once he was alone, Dick began to gingerly strip off his clothes. There was still blood on his shirt - cast-off from the man in Robinson Park he had taken down. No, <i>attacked</i>. The man was terrified, running away, and Dick <i>attacked</i> him. How long would he have hit him? How far would it have gotten if Bruce hadn’t intervened? </p><p>
  <i>Emotionally compromised.<i> The label fit like a glove. And he hated the amount of power Slade had in his life, even if he no longer held it in an iron fist. </i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Once dressed in clean, blood-free clothes, he pasted an affable smile onto his face and went to join Tim. They walked to the corner restaurant in an awkward silence, in spite of Dick’s best efforts to put on an unbothered display. It wasn’t until they were seated and perusing menus that Tim finally spoke. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“SIx months is a long time.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>It was matter of fact. A statement free of judgement but absolutely saturated with implication. Dick said nothing, and worked to keep his face blank. When he failed, he raised the menu to conceal his scowl. They were <i>not</i> talking about this. And certainly not in a crowded diner. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Coffee, please,” he heard Tim say.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dick took a deep breath and slid into the charming personality that everyone <i>needed</i> him to have, then folded his menu on the table. With a blinding smile at the waitress, he said, “I’ll take water. Thanks.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>As expected, she blushed and giggled, then wrote down the order headed to her next table. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Why do you do that,” Tim asked critically.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“What? Smile and act polite? Social contract, I guess. Everyone does it.” Dick knew Tim was getting at more than the surface answer, but he didn’t have the energy to be <i>honest</i>. It hurt <i>less</i> to lie. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hm,” Tim replied, clearly unsatisfied. “You don’t have to, you know? Pretend you’re fine when you’re not. You’ve got people who support you. You’re <i>allowed</i> to fall apart. You went through six months of what I can only imagine was hell. And instead of being able to... do what you do and act like it didn’t happen, you got drawn into a situation where you’re confronted by all of that again. It would be weird if it <i>didn’t</i> screw you up a little.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Tim was being vague - they were in public after all - but the point was made. A sound, logical, irrefutable point. And one that Dick couldn’t accept. He shook his head.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m fine,” he reiterated, a little more pointedly this time, just as the waitress returned with drinks and a request for orders. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Once she was gone again, Tim took a deep, sharp breath and looked at Dick with a serious, narrow intent. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You need to talk about this before it kills you. Or someone else. You can’t be having ‘dissociative episodes’ or whatever Bruce called them and still do what we do. You <i>know</i> that. And he told me about what happened in the park last night...”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>No. Dick was not going to have this conversation. He was handling it. He didn’t need the family shoving their opinions where they weren’t wanted. He’d managed for years without incident (nightmares notwithstanding), there was no point in being dragged into some therapy-by-ambush. It was bad enough that Bruce <i>knew</i>, but now the man was apparently leaving breadcrumbs for the others to follow. Enlisting them to try and drag out the specifics. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Noted,” Dick said waspishly as he dropped some cash on the table and stood. “Enjoy your breakfast, Tim.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Dick, wait...” Tim began. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dick waved dismissively and left the diner without looking back. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>They weren't going to leave this alone, were they? Not until every brutal second with Slade was catalogued and dissected in front of them. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dick wasn’t sure if Tim was following. In fact, he was aware of very little besides the sidewalk under his feet. He felt exposed - every part of his facade that he’d built since the day he made it out alive was on the brink of crumbling. Bruce <i>knew</i>, Tim wasn’t going to let it drop, and he could only speculate on what the others suspected. They would be disgusted, revolted. Then Dick would have <i>another</i> family that would forever look at him and see the <i>abuse</i> instead...</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He was breathing too fast, he needed to slow it down. The late summer air was hot and humid around him, and he felt like he was drowning with every thick gasp. He ducked into a small alley and pressed his body against the warm, brick wall. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he glanced at the screen. <i>Tim</i>. He declined, but the phone lit up again immediately. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He turned the phone off, then sank to the ground below him. Small rivulets of sweat slid down his back, soaking through his shirt. The sensation only pulled his thoughts farther away from the alley...</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i></i>
  </i>
</p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>...“You think you’re clever,” Slade had said coolly as he dragged Dick by the hair into his cell. “Allow me to disabuse you of that perception.” <p>Dick’s latest attempt at resistance had backfired. Badly. But he’d had little choice. He was sent to steal sensitive, dangerous information from Kord Industries. Likely schematics on advanced weaponry - something that would be devastating in the wrong hands. Slade’s hands.  So when the opportunity arose for Dick to corrupt some of the files he was meant to ‘retrieve’, he took it. The insubordination did not go unnoticed, and the punishment began as soon as he returned to Slade’s bunker. </p><p>Slade threw him into the small space and Dick’s head hit the metal frame of his cot with a bang. He blinked hard against the dark spots obscuring his vision, and barely felt the icy metal of handcuffs click around his wrists, shackling his arms to the leg of the bed. He tried to stand, but the cot was bolted to the floor. The best he could manage was a kneel. </p><p>“All this time, all this <i>effort</i>, and you still can’t do something as simple as <i>obey orders</i>.” Slade left the room, only briefly. He returned with a vicious looking whip in his hand - knotted leather strands with glints of metal woven into the braided cords. </p><p>“I’ve been too soft,” Slade said as he tore the back of Dick’s shirt open. He ran a gloved hand down Dick’s spine and sighed. “Too <i>accommodating</i> of your failures. It’s time I <i>corrected</i> that oversight.” </p><p>Without warning, Dick felt a blinding, tearing lash bite into his skin. Then another. And another. There was no time to breathe or steel himself between blows, and Dick couldn't suppress the screams forced out of him with each stinging slice. There was so little else he could focus on but the pain, nowhere to escape. Every second of agony dragged on. </p><p>Finally, Slade stopped. “That’s ten. A <i>brief</i> demonstration of what will happen if you defy me again. <i>Next</i> time I won’t hesitate to flay the skin off your back. Is that understood?” </p><p>“Y-yes, Master,” he managed to choke out. </p><p>Dick clenched his jaw in a failing effort to stop sobbing, and rested his head on the cool cot frame - a poor barrier between him and the mercenary now kneeling to unfasten his restraints. Still, it was a comfort against his hot, tear-stained cheeks. </p><p>With a disgusted, disapproving scoff, Slade left the cell and bolted the door. Slowly, Dick pulled himself up onto the edge of the cot, his breath exploding in shallow bursts. He could feel the blood from his back slowly collecting on the thin blanket beneath him, but there was little he could do about it. He knew the lacerations that needed the most attention were directly between his shoulder blades. Under the best of circumstances, there was no way to reach. But now, with his back whipped raw, it was beyond impossible. So he sat as still as he could and hoped the bleeding would slow on its own. The scars would be <i>deep</i> without some attempt at stitches. Anyone who saw him would know what happened. </p><p>Assuming <i>anyone</i> ever saw him again. </p><p>Dick was under no illusions about how remote that possibility was, now. </p><p>Five months, six days had passed since Slade took him as his ‘Apprentice’. He’d confirmed it on the calendar in the executive office he’d broken into earlier that evening. If the Titans were going to come up with a rescue plan, they’d have done it by now. If Bruce was going to pull him out of this hell, it would have happened months ago. If there was <i>any</i> way of keeping his team safe <i>and</i> leaving Slade, he would have figured it out already.</p><p>Gingerly, he laid down on his side and closed his eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come, but he could hope. </p><p>After all, hope was really all he had left...</p><div class="center">
  <p>—————</p>
</div>...The sun was high and hot above the alley where Dick sat, and the garbage in the dumpster next to him smelled foul enough to drag him away from memories of his cell in Slade’s compound. He cursed, realizing just how long he’d been sitting there, hidden and dissociating. <p><i>”You need to talk about this before it kills you,”</i> Tim had said. </p><p>He hated how <i>right</i> his brother was. </p><p>With a grimace, he pulled himself to his feet. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, now, and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. His head swam and he propped himself against the wall to get his bearings. He was blocks away from the diner, in the opposite direction from his apartment. With a sigh, he started a slow walk towards home. By the time he made it into the elevator in his building, he felt a little better. More grounded. When he pushed the door of his apartment open, all he wanted was a cool shower and a chance to call Tim and apologize. </p><p>The small group of people in his living room likely had other plans.</p><p>Bruce stood as soon as Dick set foot inside. He looked like he had clamped a tight fist on his anger, and he asked sharply, “where have you been?”</p><p>Before Dick could find the words to explain, Bruce tapped his comm. “He’s home. Head back.”</p><p>“Damian, Steph, and Cass have been looking for you since breakfast, Dick,” Tim said, shaking his head. “I thought you just needed a <i>minute</i> to cool off this morning, but you never came back. We were… worried.” </p><p>Dick closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. “I appreciate the concern but I was only gone for…”  he glanced at the clock, “three hours. Not exactly an ‘all hands on deck’ emergency.”</p><p>“In your mental state…” Bruce began.</p><p>“My <i>mental state</i>?” Dick echoed in outrage. “<i>My</i> ‘mental state’ would improve significantly if we could just let this go and <i>move on</i>.” He pointed at Bruce angrily, “you <i>said</i> it should be <i>my</i> choice how this was handled. And now you’ve, what? Staged some sort of <i>intervention</i> on my behalf? You sent Tim to watch me, brought everyone here… I guess it was only <i>my</i> choice as long as I chose what <i>you</i> wanted me to!”</p><p>Dick’s shoulders slumped, and the hot fury that filled his lungs sputtered and waned until he was left feeling raw and spent. “I thought we were <i>finally</i> seeing eye to eye, B,” he said quietly. “I was an idiot. Tell them whatever you want, Bruce. It was obviously never up to me, anyway. I need a shower.”</p><p>“Dick, wait…” Barbara began, trailing behind him as he stalked off to the bathroom. But he couldn’t bear to hear any more well-intentioned questions, so he shut and locked the door before she could finish. Behind the hollow core barrier, he sank down to the floor. If he pressed his ear to the wood, he would probably be able to hear Bruce telling them everything he’d deduced. He’d hear their shocked and pitying responses. The thought made his throat tighten with humiliation, so he pulled himself into the shower, still clothed, and turned on the water, if only to drown out any chance of hearing the family he loved learn things that would make them hate him…</p><div class="center">
  <p>----------</p>
</div>...Dick must’ve dozed, because he startled at the sound of the bolt dropping from his door. He sat up - too quickly - and was reminded of his earlier punishment as the barely coagulated lash marks pulled open started bleeding again. <p>Slade dragged the metal stool in Dick’s cell towards the center of the room and pointed. “Sit. Face the door.”</p><p>Carefully, hiding a grimace, Dick did as he was told. Slade sat behind him on the cot. Dick could hear the crinkle of a package being ripped open, then he felt the sting of antiseptic in the wounds on his back. The sweeping, cleaning motions were almost <i>gentle</i>, and the change in Slade’s behavior made Dick’s chest pound with apprehension. </p><p>Slade chuckled, probably hearing Dick’s heart rate climb, “Relax, little bird. You’re of no use to me if these scars get bad enough to limit your movement, or if you die of an infection. I’m only protecting my assets. Now keep still.”</p><p>Dick did as he was told. He felt a thin needle slip into the spaces between the worst of the lacerations, and then a warm, spreading numbness. Lidocaine, or some other analgesic. Slade wasn’t just being gentle, he was bordering on <i>kind</i>. It wasn’t <i>necessary</i> for him to ease the pain. He could have just begun tying in stitches. That’s what Dick had expected. Hell, <i>Bruce</i> rarely bothered with that step - foregoing it was an exercise in increasing pain tolerance. </p><p>Suturing was a quick, efficient process. Once Slade had finished, he taped large bandages over the most serious wounds to protect them. His broad hands carefully smoothed it all down, and then he patted Dick’s shoulder and stood. </p><p>“Thank you,” Dick heard himself whisper in a small, disbelieving voice. It was knee-jerk, an almost instinctual thing to say, and he regretted it instantly. There was no reason he should <i>thank</i> the man for tending to the lashing <i>he</i> gave him. </p><p>Slade paused with his and on the cell door and a curious smirk on his face. He turned, then carefully held Dick’s chin with his hand, tilting the boy’s head up to look at him. “That was all it took? A little <i>care</i> and you buckled?” He lazily stroked Dick’s lower lip with his thumb.</p><p>Revolted, Dick tried to pull back, but Slade had tightened his grip before he could manage it. He snarled instead. Slade was twisting Dick’s moment of mistaken gratitude into some perverse display of <i>affection</i>. He kept his lips pursed tightly together when Slade leaned down for a kiss. </p><p>“Open your mouth, <i>Apprentice</i>,” Slade commanded, “or do I have to give you another <i>demonstration</i> of the penalties for disobedience?”</p><p>Closing his eyes in a failing attempt to hide his tears, Dick parted his lips, then felt Slade’s tongue push in, intruding and suffocating. His cheeks burned with the humiliation of it. With the shame of <i>allowing</i> this. But fighting had brought him nothing but agony. Months of unending pain and misery. He felt Slade’s hand slide under the waistband of his pants, but made no move to stop him. He didn’t struggle when Slade lifted him back onto the blood-soaked cot. Didn’t twist from the man’s grasp when he removed the remains of his scarlet-stained clothes. He offered no opposition when Slade lifted his hips, and positioned him how he pleased. </p><p>What was the point? Slade would take what he wanted, regardless of how violently Dick resisted. He’d been holding on for so long. Maybe the time for fighting was over. Maybe it was time to just give in…</p><div class="center">
  <p>----------</p>
</div>...There was a soft knock at the bathroom door. Dick turned his head toward the sound, but didn’t move from his position seated in the basin of the shower. Another knock, and he shut off the water, then stripped off his now-soaking clothes. By the third knock he had wrapped a towel around his waist, and he unlocked the door, then opened it a crack. <p>Cass peered in at him. “Finished?” she asked with a supportive smile. </p><p>He shrugged, then opened the door the rest of the way. Everyone was still there. <i>Everyone</i>. Tim, Alfred, and Steph sat on the couch. Damian sulked at the kitchen island. Babs was in her chair near the coffee table nursing a mug. And Bruce stood stiffly by the front door with an inscrutable expression. </p><p>Exhausted, Dick sighed, “Look, I appreciate the concern. Really, I do. And I don't mean to sound ungrateful but would you all please <i>get out</i>.”</p><p>“Bruce told us. Some of it, anyway,” Steph said bluntly, ignoring the request. “And for the record, I think he’s an absolute <i>ass</i>. You should have had a <i>choice</i> to come to us.” She glared at Bruce, and he narrowed his eyes in return. “But we’re here, now, and whatever fucked up stuff you’ve been through, we can work it out.”</p><p>Dick clenched his eyes shut. They all looked at him with <i>pity</i>. He didn’t want to see them and imagine what they thought of him, now. He felt Cass’ warm hand on his bare chest, just under his collarbone. </p><p>“You are… in pain,” she said. “<i>Family</i> makes pain less.”</p><p>“I never wanted anyone to know,” Dick whispered, too ashamed to open his eyes. “I fought so hard to keep this a secret.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Alfred said quietly, “the time for fighting is over.”</p><p>Damian uncrossed his arms. “There is no shame in asking for help, Richard. <i>You</i> taught me that. You should learn from your own lessons.”</p><p>“I…” Dick began, resigned, “I need to get dressed first. Before we do…<i>whatever</i> this is.”</p><p>He padded to his bedroom and locked the door. In a numb, detached manner he put on clean clothes. He felt like a man climbing to the gallows. Once the family asked their questions - knew what they wanted to know - there would be no turning back. They already <i>had</i> the broad strokes - Bruce made sure of that. The fact that they were still <i>here</i> must mean they wanted <i>specifics</i>. One hundred and eighty days with Slade. One hundred and eighty secrets he’d promised himself he’d keep locked away forever. And every one of them was about to be exposed. </p><p>With a deep breath, he opened the door and walked back to the living room. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor as he deposited himself in a chair across from the sofa - he felt too ashamed to look any of them in the eye. </p><p>They all sat in silence. All Dick could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. When he couldn’t stand the quiet anymore, he asked in a hush, “what do you want to know?” </p><p>“This isn’t an interrogation,” Bruce deflected. </p><p>Right. An entire family of detectives had cornered Dick in his apartment for some reason <i>other</i> than parsing out the full details of a fresh mystery. </p><p>“Then what <i>is</i> this? Just a loving show of support?” Dick asked sarcastically.</p><p>“Precisely,” replied Alfred. </p><p>Tim nodded. Steph rolled her eyes with a smile. </p><p>“You don’t have to tell us <i>anything</i>,” Barbara clarified. “But if you want to, if you <i>need</i> to, we’re here.”</p><p>“I’m already ashamed of myself,” Dick said with his head in his hands, “I never wanted you to be ashamed of me, too.”</p><p>“Ashamed?” Steph said, incredulous. “What? Because a psycho did unspeakable things to you? That is <i>nothing</i> to be ashamed of.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Dick shrugged, “But giving up sure as hell is. The last month with him I just...stopped fighting. He <i>won</i>. He took <i>everything</i> from me and in the end I let him win. And then this case… it was like letting him win all over again.”</p><p>The admission <i>hurt</i>. But it also felt like he could breathe again. Like the weight on his chest that had been crushing him for <i>years</i> had shifted - not completely, but enough that he felt just a little relief. They may hate him, be disgusted by his weakness, but he wouldn't have to <i>pretend</i> anymore. </p><p>“No,” Cass said as she shook her head vehemently, “You... are alive. <i>You</i> won.”</p><p>“She’s right,” Tim agreed. “Six months is a <i>long</i> time to hold on. It's what I was trying to tell you this morning....”</p><p>“We’re not ashamed of you,” Bruce said, inferring Tim’s statement and completing it for him. “<i>I’m</i> not ashamed of you. I’m… proud of you. And ashamed of <i>myself</i>, for failing you so badly.”</p><p>“B, you didn’t… it’s not…” The emotions were too much, and Dick’s words died in his throat. Sobs bubbled up in their place. He could feel himself falling apart - it was an inevitability. Nothing could stop it. But the firm weight of Bruce’s hand on his shoulder kept him grounded, made him feel <i>solid</i> in a way that had eluded him for too long. When he looked into the eyes of his family as they held space for his grief, he didn’t see pity. He saw love. And for the first time in a long time, he could believe that things would be ok.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Titles for the Story and Chapters came from the lyrics of Goner by Twenty-One Pilots</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>